


i'm into you

by loube



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, and harry's a dork, and they like blowjobs and grinding, but yeah, heavily influenced by marcel the marketing guy, it's just fluff really, louis pines a lot, that's all i write, this is really bad, yeah sorry jumped on the bandwagon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loube/pseuds/loube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where louis is intimidating he swears and harry's kind of a dork and they like each other and there's a blowjob involved somewhere</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm into you

**Author's Note:**

> i tried. i think there might be an over usage of the word fuck.

it's not that louis  _fancied_  him, really. he just kind of felt bad for the guy.

harry was kind of funny looking was the thing.

he had this ridiculous hair part, and these horrid glasses that took up over half of his face, and his choice of dress was worthy of the gawking and teasing it drew and louis felt  _bad_  for him, he really did. he pitied the kid for his hair and his glasses and his clothes and his incapability of walking without falling and his fumbling and stuttering and the way he was so fucking out of it. but he also found it really fucking endearing.

it’s just that harry was kind of cute with his glasses, the way he'd fumble around and blindly reach up to nudge the glasses up the bridge of his nose. and he  _liked_  the way harry had these stupid pigeon feet, and he  _liked_  that harry could trip over his own feet, and that harry stuttered, and he found it cute how he'd mumble and stumble over words and how he'd flush red from the nape of his neck to the tips of his ears, and he liked all of it really, liked  _harry_.

so maybe louis fancied harry. _just a bit._  just a little. or maybe a lot. whatever.

"why don't you look at that," zayn smirks. "there's lou's charity case. gonna ask him to prom, mate?"

louis rolls his eyes, tossing his cigarette to the sidewalk as it burns and shoving off from the ledge, "shut the fuck up, zayn."

a low chuckle comes from zayn as he takes another drag and slides off from the ledge after louis, "just messin' lou."

and that was kind of another thing -everybody was  _just messin'_. always  _just messin'_.  _just messin'_  when they shoved harry into the lockers,  _just messin'_  when they slammed into harry, knocking his books from his arms,  _just messin'_  when they broke his glasses or pushed his face into the toilet or yanked at his clothes until he cried. they always seemed to be _just messin'_  and louis was always the one  _just messin'_  right back at them when they messed with harry.

"don't fucking start, zayn," louis murmurs. "he's nice. leave him alone, you dick."

and zayn sighs, so louis lets it go, licking his lips, tongue laving over metal as his eyes look for stupid high waisted trousers and an ugly sweater vest and a fucking  _tie_ because apparently harry thinks ties and sweater vests and bad hair is cool, and louis won't ever admit to thinking it's kind of hot. (he won't admit to jerking his cock thinking about pulling that fucking tie over harry's head either.)

\---

and like, louis likes to think he's kind of intimidating, because he's got this piercing in his lip and another in his nose and another in his brow, and his ears are stretched with thick black plugs in them, and his eyes are ever so slightly rimmed in black liner, and he's got these fucking tattoos, yeah, that stretch over both of his arms and up the side of his neck and his hair's messy and  _sexy._  and he should be hard to approach and scary and fucking _badass,_  but somehow, harry lights up like a fucking sun when he walks into the room and sees louis, and louis  _melts_.

and it's probably just that harry's got these dimples, and louis wants to touch them and to feel his soft skin and he wants to watch harry fucking smile for the rest of his life sometimes, and fucking hell, he's supposed to be  _intimidating._

"louis! louis!" harry grins, lugging his heavy bag across the room, stumbling over his feet as he treads toward louis, sitting down on the seat directly beside him. "hi!"

and louis really can't help but grin despite zayn's snicker and niall's laugh because harry's so  _eager,_ jesus, "hey, harry. make it to class okay?"

and harry nods, and louis reaches over and pets his head, running his fingers through harry's hair, messing it a bit and harry preens and louis' smile widens and zayn and niall are definitely making faces, he knows it.

"good," louis says. and when class starts, louis pulls his hand away from harry's hair, and he definitely doesn't watch fondly at the way harry starts to fumble around, looking for his notebooks and his pens and pencils and he definitely doesn't smile when harry's pencils burst out of his pencil case and he has to crawl all over the floor to pick them all up, and louis definitely is not smiling like a fool, because he's intimidating, okay? he's fucking  _intimidating,_ even if he's smitten for this pigeon toed fool, and fuck, he's definitely not smiling.

\---

later that night, when louis' laying in bed alone, he lets himself smile for a bit; lets himself think about the way harry's glasses sit on his nose and how his dimple digs into his cheek, and he lets himself think about the way harry's pants hug his thighs and his hips and his legs and he thinks about his fucking tie and his  _lips_.

he thinks about harry's red lips and how they look after he wets them and he thinks about how they look when he's biting them and the way his lips look when he's talking and he thinks about what they would look like wrapped around his cock and he lets his hand rub his navel, lets his hand run down the abdomen and into the waistband of his pants and he lets his hand wrap itself around his cock, his thumb rubbing at the slit and smearing the precum a little as he imagines harry's long, nimble fingers where his are and he strokes to the thought of harry styles and comes with his name at the tip of his tongue.

\---

the next day when they're in class, louis' got his hand buried into harry's hair again and harry's trying to explain this fucked up calculus formula to him and he's just looking at the way harry's mouth is moving as he talks, and just  _fuck,_ _fuck, fuck._

and then harry's looking up at him, big green eyes wide and questioning and he says, "so do you get it, lou?"

and louis just stares at him, stares back at the big wondering eyes before him and he swallows. gulps. fucking forces the lump down in his throat before he says something stupid like  _you've got really nice eyes_  and  _your lips are really red_  and _i want to suck your dick. can i do that?_

but then he's saying something like, "maybe you should come over after school and explain it to me." and then staring down as harry's fucking mouth stretches into the biggest grin he's ever seen and  _fuck_. he's fucked. so fucked.

\---

it's later, when they're at louis' house the next day that things start to change.

it's just that harry's  _here_  this time and his head is in louis' lap and louis' hands are in harry's hair and harry's talking animatedly about this experiment he's doing in chemistry and he's rambling about calculus and his books are strewn all over the fucking couch and zayn's  _annoyed._ he's flicking through channels before they even catch what's on, and niall's crunching chips between his teeth, and liam's bored and picking at his nails and checking his phone, and it's kind of obvious that harry's not welcome. not here. except louis' invited him, so he is. welcome, that is.

"could you just shut the fuck up?" or not.

zayn leans back, glares down at harry and waits for a response, waits because he wants harry to fucking  _speak, dares him really. his eyes are watching harry in a way that makes louis' fists clench and his jaws tighten, and harry's frozen in his lap._  zayn's fingers are gently tapping at the box of fags in his pocket, and louis' eyes flash towards harry and harry's looking at the floor, his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth and his teeth are biting down hard and his jaw is set and he looks the way he did when louis met him five years ago, crying in the bathroom.

when nobody says anything, zayn adjusts himself on the chair, ignores louis' gaze, and runs a hand through his own hair, saying something about a party at whoever's house and leaving and niall's shrugging and agreeing and liam just mentions going home and they're alone now. but harry's not making a sound and neither is he, so he just gently brushes harry's ear with his finger. it's supposed to be comforting, supposed to be a silent  _i'm here_  and _i like you_  and  _it's okay_.

"do you think i'm a freak? like," harry pauses, "why do you talk to me?"

and louis' hand freezes. "you're not a freak, harry."

and harry's sitting up and he's rubbing at his glasses and he's saying, "can we please just finish the calculus assignment so i can go?"

and louis' heart kind of clenches in his chest and he's trying really hard to ignore the way harry's rubbing at his eyes now and how his sleeves are damp and how his body kind of shudders and  _jesus fucking christ_.

it's just that louis' known harry for four years, nearly five, and he still remembers the first time he ever saw harry, remembers because he'd had his head down a toilet and he was screaming and choking and making possibly inhumane noises while max and tom held him down by his neck, and louis had  _really_  needed to pee.

harry's books had been strewn across the floor, wet with toilet water and he was bent onto his knees with his head in the toilet as it flushed and they'd been laughing and louis didn't really care, except that it was hard to concentrate on his dick when somebody was crying pitifully behind him. and louis just wanted to piss, really, he did, and he'd said so, said something like, "could you fucking stop?" and tom had looked at him for half a second and rolled his eyes, and harry had been choking on toilet water and pushing and crying and max had simply shoved his head a little harder without a chance for breath, and louis' patience had started to run out. "i said, could you fucking stop."

but when tom had stepped on harry's glasses and harry'd screamed a little louder, louis saw red for the first time, and he's seen red ever since. he saw red when he pulled harry from the bathroom and drove him home, and he saw red when he had to watch harry pull soaked toilet paper off his face, and he saw red when he watched harry bundle himself up in louis' car and cry, and he'd seen red when he'd decided he didn't like it, didn't like seeing harry cry, didn't like seeing his red rimmed eyes and his nose rubbed red.

but harry's crying now, and he's curled up next to louis and his hands are shaking and his hair's mussed up and it's all louis' fault.

and he doesn't know what to do, because he's never had to do anything but defend harry before. never had to hold harry or comfort him or stop his crying, because he'd always just been the one to stop the teasing and stop the swirlies and stop the names. but he's looking at harry now and he wants to kiss him, wants to taste his lips and curl his arms around him and wants to make him stop the shaking and the crying, wants to make him  _stop_. so he curls his hand around harry's head, tangles his fingers in harry's hair and pulls him closer until his lips are pressed against harry's red ones and fucking hell, his lips are soft.

\---

louis doesn't see harry again until they're back in class on monday and when harry walks in, louis just wants to taste his lips again, doesn't care much for semantics, just misses the taste of his tongue and the way his fingers sat around louis' neck and the way his legs straddles louis' thighs and the way he felt on top of him.

when harry sits down beside him, louis reaches over, thumbs at harry's knee and smiles, flicking the ring in his lip gently. "come over after school, yeah?"

and harry smiles, and he adjusts his glasses and he nods and that's enough for louis, really. it's enough.

\---

the thing about harry styles is that his lips are really soft, addictingly soft really, and they're thick, and they're always a little swollen after louis nibbles on them, and harry does this thing where he bites on louis' lip, tugs at louis' lip ring, and pulls, and it makes louis so fucking hard, and jesus fucking christ, louis could probably kiss them, kiss harry all day.

he's got his hands on harry's bum and he's groping the curve of his arse and rubbing his front against harry's and they're kissing messily, frotting against one another, all tongue and teeth and breath. harry's tie's loosened and his clothes are wrinkled and his hair's a mess but he's grinding down on louis, and leaving kisses down louis' neck and sucking on his collarbone and louis' head is thrown back and he's moaning, "fucking hell. you're so fucking -you're fucking mouth, harry.  _fuck_."

and harry's breathing on his bite, smiling as he kisses it one last time, pressing his fucking lips where his teeth dug into louis' skin, and louis' got his hand in harry's hair and he's pulling him back up to his lips. his tongue slips in between harry's mouth and harry's teeth bite down gently and sucks louis further into his mouth and  _fuck_. louis wants to suck his cock. he really wants to suck his cock.

his hand slips down and he's touching harry's cock over his trousers, gently fondling the shape of his dick and harry's burying his face into louis' neck, moaning and his hot breath is leaving layers of sweat on louis' skin and he's grinding his hips into louis' hand and he's hard, really fucking hard, "more,  _lou, more._ "

and louis' pushing him backwards, pressing him into the couch, and he's straddling harry's hips as he sucks on harry's neck, and his hips are moving along harry's, and he's kissing down, down, down until there's no more skin, and his fingers are working on the button of harry's trousers now, and harry's looking at him with these heavy lidded eyes and his pupils are fucking blown and he's red, flushed from the neck up and louis wants to suck his cock so bad. wants to watch him throw his head back and wants to see the vein in his neck strain and watch his jaw drop and listen to him moan louis' name.

"gonna suck you, yeah?" he smiles and harry's eyes shut as a loud moan comes from his throat and louis' unzipping his trousers, pulling his cock out of his pants and, "you've got a pretty cock, harry."

and he does. it's long, really long and it's fucking pink and it's hard and he's leaking precum from the tip and louis wants to taste it, wants to swallow him down and let him fuck his throat. 

"just fucking blow me, louis," harry moans and his hand's in louis' hair and he's pushing louis down and he's watching him is the thing. his glasses have fallen off and his eyes are huge, these big green things and they're watching louis as he pulls harry's foreskin down and they're watching as louis' tongue slicks up his cock from the base to the tip and he licks at his slit, just gently flicking into the tip of harry's cock and tasting his precum, and they're still watching as his head falls back and a loud moan echoes around the room.

louis wants to moan, wants to tell harry he's so fucking hot, but he's busy kissing the tip of harry's cock and swirling his tongue around the tip and slowly sinking down, down, down until his nose is buried in harry's hair, and he's breathing heavily through his nose, and there's a cock in his fucking throat and fucking hell, harry's so good. he feels so good, so heavy on louis' tongue and he smells like harry, so good like harry and louis moans, moans around harry's cock and it's over.

harry's hand tightens in louis' hair and he's holding him down and there's something warm spurting down louis' throat and he's still moaning because  _fuck_ , harry's hot. he's so fucking hot and he's thrusting into louis' mouth as he comes and his hand is in louis' hair and fuck, louis wants him. wants him again and again and again. wants his taste on his tongue and his hands on his body and his cock in his mouth. wants him everywhere over and over and always.

when harry's hand loosens from louis' hair, he pulls up, lets harry's dick slip back into his hand and licks around harry's softening cock, kissing the tip as he pulls the foreskin back up, "love your cock, harry. you've got such a nice cock."

and harry moans again, his hands are on louis' face, thumb rubbing against his cheekbone, and he's pulling him up for a kiss, for a taste of his mouth and they're kissing again as one of harry's hands slips downward to louis' jeans, "you're hard, lou." and louis nods, breathes shakily into harry's mouth as harry unbuttons his jeans with one hand, with a short flick of his fingers, and slips inside to pull out louis' dick. it only takes a few strokes, a few steady harry-handed strokes and he's coming on harry's fucking sweater vest and down the sides of harry's huge hands, and groaning harry's name into harry's neck and biting into harry's skin and fuck.  _harry._

\---

it becomes a thing then -louis sucking harry's cock and harry's hand on louis' cock and tongue and kissing and bites and louis likes it. likes it a lot. likes touching harry, likes having him in his mouth, likes feeling the way his cock presses into louis' hip, and it's fine. everything's fine until zayn asks the question.

"so are you two a thing now? like," he pauses, blows out a ring of smoke, "are you dating?"

and louis freezes, "dating?"

zayn watches him with steady eyes, "dating."

and louis doesn't know, doesn't know if they're dating because he's never asked and harry's never asked and he doesn't know if they're exclusive or if they're just getting each other off or if they're anything at all. it's just the sex that's a thing, it's just harry that's a thing, it's just harry and sex that's a thing, but he doesn't know if he's a part of it.

when he doesn't answer, zayn throws his cigarette to the ground and stands up, "maybe you should figure that out, mate."

and louis' sitting on the ledge alone again and he doesn't know if it's a  _harryandlouis_  thing or if it's just harry and louis and sex.

\---

it eats at louis for weeks, eats at him because he kisses harry and touches him and feels his body against his own, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to hold his hand or trace his fingers along the ridges of harry’s arms, and he wants to. he wants to intertwine their fingers and feel harry’s palm against his and this thing –this thing where he misses the feel of harry’s hands, misses how harry’s skin feels against his happens a lot.

it happens at lunch when louis sneaks off to the library with harry and they’re sitting on the floor against a shelf and harry’s talking about some biological find and louis’ watching him, watching the way his big green eyes are bright behind his glasses, and how his dimple digs into his cheeks when he's so excited about something, and he wants to reach over feel the dimple beneath his fingers and feel harry’s hand against his, wants to feel the warmth of harry’s hands against his, wants to tell harry that he likes listening to harry talk, likes that harry gets excited about stupid things and he likes harry. likes him a lot.

and it happens when they’re in class and they're taking a test and harry’s hands are gently tapping against his desk and his lips are pursed in his mouth and his dark brows are knit together because he’s concentrating on something difficult, and louis wants to reach over and interlock their hands together, wants to feel harry’s pulse under his fingertips and feel the curves of hi fingers pressing against his own and he wants to tell him  _it’s okay, you can do it, don't stress_.

and it happens when some kids from the footy team are shoving harry around in the hallway, knocking his books around and calling him names, and louis’ shoving them back and telling them to fuck off and bashing their heads into lockers, and he’s dragging harry away from the crowd by his wrist. he wants to slip his hand into harry’s and tell him  _i’m here, i’m always here and i won’t ever let anybody hurt you and i’m sorry_ , but he doesn’t. doesn’t slip his hand into harry’s hand, because he doesn’t know if he can, doesn’t know if that’s a thing they can do or if harry even wants it or needs it.

and it’s just that louis wants to take him out on dates and take him to the movies and pay for his dinner and his snacks and he wants to watch stupid rom coms with him and hold his hand in the dark and kiss him whenever he feels like it and buy him stupid trinkets that remind him of harry when they're apart and press kisses to his skin when harry laughs at him. and he wants to miss him when he’s gone and call him at night to tell him he misses his touch, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. he doesn’t know if harry wants it, and he’s too scared to ask, because he doesn’t think he’s quite so intimidating anymore, doesn’t think he’s quite as strong when it comes to harry, doesn’t think his piercings and his tattoos matter to harry and he doesn’t want to get hurt. doesn’t want harry to tell him no.

\---

but it's just that louis' patience runs out fast, too fast, and he's rash and impulsive and he's kind of a shit, really, and it's been a few weeks since zayn asked the question and louis' standing in he hallway, one hand wrapped around eleanor calder's waist, and she's giggling into his neck, and it's wrong.

nothing about eleanor's right. not her laugh, not the curve of her back, not the way she fits into his side, nothing about her is right and he's standing there and zayn's watching him with those fucking eyes, the ones that put him to shame, and he wants out. he wants eleanor away from him and he wants to curl up in his bed with harry by his side, tucked under his arm and breathing onto his skin. and he wants harry to be curled around him in the hallways and he wants harry to hold his hand and kiss him goodbye and giggle against his neck, and he most definitely doesn't want eleanor.

and it's hitting him now, hitting him hard and he looks down at eleanor who's looking up at him with nice, brown eyes and she's saying, "so will you then? will you go to prom with me?" and he's staring down at her because no. no he doesn't want to go to prom with her. no, he doesn't want to hold her hand. and no he doesn't want to smile down at her and hold her while she presses into his side. he wants harry. he wants harry now and there and here and everywhere and possibly forever, and he's looking down at her and she knows. he can tell she knows, because her smile falters, and she pulls away from him and nods and says, "it's okay. i get it." then she's turning and walking away and he's turning around and his hands are itching for harry, so he finds him, sitting at his desk in class. and he curls up around him, tucks his arm around harry's shoulder and kisses his cheek and says, "hey, i missed you."

\---

and it’s weeks later when harry's sucking on his neck, right above his tattoo and rubbing his crotch against his thigh and he's breathing heavy into the air, loud puffs of air blown from his mouth as he moans and his head’s thrown back, and he’s got his hands on harry’s hips, moving them along to his grinding that things begin to resolve.

harry’s trailing kisses, soft, steady pecks up the side of his jaw, his fingers scratching under his chin and rubbing his stubble, and he's sliding his hands under harry's sweater vest, pulling harry's shirt from where it's tucked neatly inside his trousers, and he's aching to feel the warmth, and the comfort of harry's skin, wants to trace harry’s skin with his hands and feel the ridges of harry’s ribs, and feel the subtle cave of his stomach, and he wants to thumb the nubs on his chest, and feel his heartbeat under his lips, and he looks at harry, looks at the way his eyes flicker across louis' skin and the way his chest rises and falls, and he's watching and he's fucking tired of waiting. tired of wanting to hold harry's hand, and not being able to, and he's tired of wanting and not having and missing him all the fucking time, and he's pulling away, lets harry's shirt fall, and harry tenses, and looks at him with clouded eyes, his kiss swollen lips pulled down in a frown.

and louis' reaching over, his hand tugging gently at the hairs at harry's nape, and he pulls harry in for a quick peck and he's whispering against his lips, trailing down to his neck in kisses that brush his skin, “can i ask you something?”

louis’ kissing his ear, breathing softly against his skin, and he's sliding his hands down harry’s arms, curling his fingers gently around his elbows, and he’s ignoring the way his heart is pounding in his chest and he bites into harry's neck softly before kissing back up his jaw and harry's breathing into his ear in uneven breaths and his hands are gripped in louis' shirt. and it's just that harry's got his massive fucking glasses on, and his hair looks like shit, all mussed up and wild, and his eyes are huge, and honest, and so fucking green, and he's looking at louis like he’s terrified, like he's scared of whatever louis says next and it makes louis feel really stupid, because his heart's pounding in his chest and all he's trying to do is ask if harry's his fucking boyfriend or not and he's making harry scared and it's all so petty and trivial but it's not, because harry's his, right? and he doesn't know what he'd do if harry said no.

"are we like," and he's pausing, doesn't know how to word it, doesn't know how to put his thoughts to words, "are we like together? like am i your boyfriend and are you mine and like, are we that?"

and harry's frowning again and his brows are knit together and he's saying, "are we not?" and his hands are rubbing nervously into the fabric of louis' shirt and louis' breathing in relief, because that's a yes right? that's a _of course we are_ , isn't it?

but harry bites his lip, looks at louis a little longer and he’s saying, "i thought -for a second i thought you were going to say you're with eleanor calder, or something. i just -i heard you two were going to prom or something. i heard she asked you and you said yes."

and it's a little mean, but louis likes it, likes the way harry's squirming in his lap, the way he's playing with the hem of louis' shirt so nervously and blinking fast and chewing on his lip. what he likes, really, is seeing harry so put off at the thought of louis with someone else, or really, it's just seeing that harry likes louis as much as louis like harry. so he frowns, curls his finger around a strand of harry's hair and pulls gently, watches the way harry's eyes shudder and his lips part ever so slightly, as his lips turn up into a smirk, “and what if i did?”

and harry's eyes widen, his mouth gapes and he's pulling away, limbs fidgeting as he babbles,"i mean," harry pauses. his eyes are flickering anywhere and everywhere but louis, and his fingers begin nervously rubbing against louis' shirt, his thick nails scratching at the fabric on louis' chest, and he’s rambling, "you- you can like, do whatever you like. i just- it's just that, i like, i'd _assumed_ we were dating, and that, like, i'd _assumed_ you would come with me. but like, i- i didn't know that we," he stops again, pulls even further away, his voice disheartened and louis feels something in his chest strain, "i just -i'd really wanted to go."

and harry’s still talking, still stuttering about _assuming_ things, and and he’s stumbling over his own words and trying to shrug off the idea of prom as casual and as though louis going with eleanor was even remotely okay, but all louis hears as he’s watching harry’s lips move is that _dating_  and  _harryandlouis_  and  _prom_ and _together_  and he's pulling harry into a kiss, his hands holding onto harry's face, and he's smiling against harry’s lips as his breath hitches, and he's telling harry with the way his lips move against his that _i'm yours_ and _yes_ and _i like you, i really really like you. just you. always you._

\---

and it’s like, prom is a big deal.

there’s dress code and money and dates and corsages and flowers and pictures and dancing and fucking everybody involved and louis’ not really into that, he's really not into that. but like, lately, harry’s been giving him this smile, this smile with his dimples and his white white white teeth and his big green eyes are wrinkling and crinkling behind his stupid glasses, and it's making louis' heart pound, making him almost excited for prom, especially if he gets to see harry smile like that all night. and it's just that harry keeps smiling at him that way before he kisses him, and telling him to pick him up at seven, and reminding him to wear a tie and a suit and to bring a fucking boutonniere whatever that is, and he keeps giving louis that look, the one that makes louis’ hand tighten in harry’s and makes him want to kiss him stupid, and louis doesn’t really think he  _minds_  prom anymore because of that look and this smile, and it’s been weeks of it, weeks of this smile and weeks of kissing harry until his lips are swollen and red and wet and marked with louis' taste, and weeks of harry nervously telling him to make sure he comes on time and that he wear a suit, or at the very least a nice blazer, and that his mum wants pictures and it’s been good. so good. really fucking good.

but now that it’s the day of prom, louis’ not sure he’s ready.

he’s got a boutonniere in hand and his keys in the other and he’s wearing the closest thing he’s got to a goddamn suit, being black jeans that hug his legs nicely, the ones that harry likes best on him, and  he's wearing this white dress shirt that’s littered in black dots and harry'd gone through his closet looking for it, and he’s got his lapelled jacket on with the white rimmed pocket, and his hair’s done nicely, pulled back neatly, and he even took out his piercings, but he’s fucking nervous. nervous because he's never met harry's mum and what if she doesn't like him, nervous because what if the night goes to shit because the others at school can't stop making fun of his boy, his baby, nervous because what if harry looks at him and thinks he can do better, thinks he can find someone a little better _refined_ than a guy who wears jeans to prom. so he’s sitting in his car, boutonniere in hand (he finally figured that out), car parked directly in front of harry’s house, and he’s frozen in his seat, his legs are numb and his heart is pounding in his chest.

and he's trying to think of harry and his smile and the way he'd looked when he'd left louis that day to go get ready, and he thinks about what he looks like now, sitting inside of his house waiting for louis, knows he’s wearing a suit, nice black trousers and a nice black jacket and a nice white shirt  with a classic tie, and he’s trying to imagine harry with his stupid hair part and his fucking glasses in that suit, trying to imagine how harry will look wearing something other than his ugly argyle sweaters, and there's a lump in his throat, because harry's taking him to fucking prom. prom with the fancy dresses and fancy suits and everybody's going to be fucking watching them, staring at how stupid harry's hair is and how stupid his glasses are, but he doesn't think he'd want him to change, think he likes him just the way he is, and he wants to chuckle, wants to laugh a little imagining harry tripping in a suit, but he doesn’t because it’s caught in his throat, caught in his throat along with the thought of people laughing at his favorite boy. his hand tightens around the boutonniere, and he takes a deep breath before unlocking his car door and slipping out to go get harry, because harry wants this. harry wants this and it'll be okay going to prom with him. it'll be okay if people snicker, because he'll be there to put an end to it.

“you’ve got this tomlinson,” he chants, “you can do this.”

and he’s knocking on the door, wrapping his knuckles and waiting for harry or his mum or his sister or someone to come open up, because his knees are knocking and he thinks his nerves are about to eat him up and chase him back into his car and make his hands shake in his lap, but then he door swings open, and he looks up, expecting a bad hair part and oversized glasses, but then he's staring up at some fit boy with nice, curly hair and pretty pink lips, and he frowns, takes a step back, wondering if he’s got the wrong house and checking just in case before his eyes catch onto those fucking big green eyes and those fucking pink lips and fucking dimples and just  _fuck_.

it's harry. it's definitely harry. and it's like, harry looks good, really good, but he doesn't look like _harry._ doesn't look like the boy who trips and falls everywhere and tells math jokes for fun and reads scientific magazines anymore, doesn't look like louis' boy with his stupid glasses and he doesn't look like harry with his shitty hair, and like, louis' staring up at this adonis-like harry and he's thinking that yeah, harry looks good, looks fit as hell, but there's  this disconcerting lump in his throat that says  _who are you?_ and it makes louis want to leave.

and he tries to shrug it off, tries to pretend there's no lump in his throat, and he's trying his best to smile, "you, uh, you look nice. really nice.”

but it's like, harry's grinning again, that same grin he’s been pressing into louis' skin for the last few weeks, the one with the teeth and the dimples and the crinkling eyes, and louis’ melting. he can feel himself falling apart inside, feels the ache in his lips that want to kiss harry on his lips and down his jaw and across his collarbones and over the hollows in his shoulders and tug loose his tie, "hi, louis."

and louis nods, his lips pulling a little harder and he's smiling a little wider, and he's so fucking fond of this boy, he doesn't think he can breathe. and it's just that he's looking at harry now, and it's different. so different but it's so fucking familiar, and there's this way that harry says his name that makes his breath hitch, and he wants to touch, wants to take harry's hand in his again, because it's still harry. still his boy with the bad jokes and the math references and the science rambles and it's still his boy who wears ugly sweaters and shitty ties and fucking trousers every day. and it's definitely his boy, beneath all the hair and the clothes and the materials. it's definitely his boy who holds his hand and kisses him and that's enough really, because it's his boy and he's fucking ready to walk into that dance hall with harry on his arm and he's ready to have harry on his arm every day, "so you ready to go then?"

and harry smiles, nods and looks back inside before biting his lip, "i just gotta get my mum first. she keeps talking about pictures and memories and stuff."

and harry spares him one last smile before disappearing inside, heavy footsteps fading off and louis' watching after him, listening for his steps because he thinks he kind of misses him even when he's right there. and when he comes back out, he's barreling out with his mum attached to his side, and she's smiling at louis with these vibrant blue eyes and she's saying, "oh! you must be louis! i've heard so much about you, love!" and she's dragging his body into a hug, kissing his cheek and over her shoulder, he can see harry smiling at them so wide his face looks like it's about to split, and louis' happy because harry's happy, and he looks like harry now. looks like his harry with his goofy smile. "s'nice to meet you, babe. just let me get a few photos and you can go."

harry shuffles over towards him and louis smiles, lets his cheeks clench and his lips quirk up naturally because he's really happy here with harry next to him, with harry standing by his side, and he tucks his arm around harry’s waist, feels himself flush to the tips of his ears when harry pulls him in closer until their bodies are fit next to each other, aligned like puzzles. and when the camera snaps, his eyes flicker up and he’s looking at harry and harry’s looking back down at him with those big green eyes and it's a little different without his glasses, but he doesn’t think he’d really be anywhere else; not with eleanor or with zayn or anyone else in the world. he doesn’t think he'll ever want anybody except for this fumbling fool beside him, doesn't think anybody will ever fit him the way harry does. and it's harry, it's his boy, his baby, and he really likes him. likes him even with all of his quirks. likes his sweater vests and his ties and his advanced chemistry talk and he likes the harry standing beside him and the harry that holds his hand in class and he just likes harry, is the thing. he's into him and every little thing about him and his smile and his laugh, and jesus fucking christ. he's into him.

he’s really into him.


End file.
